The Seduction of an Earl (11 page)

A brilliant smile lit up Hannah’s face. “Charlotte and her duke are marrying tomorrow morning!”

A bit of panic gripped Henry. The news wasn’t unexpected, but ...
did Hannah expect to attend Charlotte’s wedding instead of her own?

“At exactly the same time we’re getting married!” Hannah added, her delight so infectious that Henry was forced to smile, although his was due more to relief than news of Charlotte’s wedding. “That is, if you were able to schedule a vicar?” she half-questioned, her brows furrowing so a tiny line developed between her eyebrows.

Henry lifted a finger to the spot and pressed lightly. “The bishop will be here at ten-thirty,” he assured her as he continued to hold her lightly.

Her eyes still bright, Hannah gave him an embarrassed grin. “Truly, I did not doubt you,” she claimed, wondering how it could be she felt comfortable standing so close to a man, closer than she would if they were waltzing.

Giving her half a shrug, he cocked an eyebrow. “And how did my lady fair in her plans?” he wondered, the amusement back in his voice.

Hannah took a deep breath. “I do not know how Lady Bostwick can accomplish so much in such a short amount of time, but there will be flowers and a gown and a cake and a breakfast feast ...” She allowed the sentence to trail off, her face suddenly turning more serious. “I don’t know that we’ll have any
guests
at the wedding.”

Henry shook his head. “Not to worry. I have spoken with some friends who are not making the trip to Sussex for the duke’s wedding. I expect they will make an appearance.” At her raised eyebrow, he gave a shrug. “A few invitations have been delivered by courier to some members of the
ton
. It is a ducal wedding, after all,” he explained, hoping she wasn’t disappointed that their hastily planned affair would take second to that of her friend. He was surprised when she seemed relieved by the news.

“I feared there would be no one at Lady Charlotte’s wedding,” she said by way of explanation. Both of her hands still rested on his shoulders from when she kissed him. She lowered one so it rested on his chest, the feel of his heartbeat suddenly beneath her fingers. Sometime tomorrow, she imagined her hand would be at the same spot, but there would be no topcoat, no waistcoat, no linen shirt separating her fingers from his bare skin. A shiver of anticipation shot through her. What had Elizabeth done in telling her all about the joys of the marriage bed? Her friend had described intercourse in so many varied versions, she found she could not imagine half of them and otherwise blushed at the ones she could. But instead of dreading her wedding night, Hannah found herself looking forward to the time she could share her bed with Gisborn. With luck, he would get her with child shortly after the wedding, and she would have a baby to love and care for while Gisborn and his mistress continued their lives.

Hannah had to rein in her thoughts of the future. First, they would spend the night at Devonville House and then leave for Oxfordshire the following day. If the weather held, they would make the entire trip in one day. “Lord and Lady Bostwick have agreed to stay in London for one more day so that Elizabeth can stand with me. Have you someone who will stand with you?” she asked, not sure how many members of the
ton
he knew. He hadn’t yet taken his seat in Parliament; instead, he’d stayed in Oxfordshire seeing to his estate and the farms surrounding it.

“My man, Murphy, will stand with me,” he said with a nod, marveling at how calm she seemed, as if she got married every day. A bit of nervousness crept into his being. A quick glance around the parlor made it apparent a special event was planned somewhere in Devonville House. Vases of flowers were already scenting the air around them. Footmen were hauling items in from a dray parked in the front drive. An impeccably dressed woman with an Italian accent was giving instructions to a team of maids as to where dozens of large bows were to be hung. Henry was quite sure he’d seen her at a
ton
event, but knew he’d never been introduced. This wedding was going to happen.
Tomorrow morning.
It was too late to back out, too late to apologize and beg forgiveness, too late ... But a calmness settled over him as he regarded his bride standing before him. She seemed happy to have him, satisfied with the arrangement they would have.
The third time’s the charm
, he thought as he considered any debutante in the Marriage Mart would probably do at this point.

Well, perhaps not
any
. But Hannah Slater certainly would.

Chapter 7

Wedding Night Jitters

Hannah stood before him in a pristine white night rail, its neckline edged in delicate lace while a ribbon bow held the top edges of the bodice together. From the way her lower lip trembled slightly, Henry realized she was nervous, frightened even. Probably even more than he was at the moment.

What was wrong with him? He’d bedded Sarah for over ten years! He knew how to do this – how to caress and stroke and kiss until Sarah’s quiet cries told him she was ready for his manhood.

But the woman that stood before him wasn’t Sarah.

She was Lady Hannah Slater. She was a fairy princess. She was a virgin.
My countess
. And she looked scared to death.

“Perhaps, for this ... first night, I should ...” Henry shook his head, astounded that he could feel so uncertain about how to proceed with his new wife. This was their wedding night. He should simply carry her to the bed, pull the gown from her body and mount her, take her virtue just as he’d imagined doing down in the parlor. He was her husband, after all. But there was that trembling lip, the fright in her eyes.

Hannah reached out and clasped her hand around his wrist, her long fingers warm as they pulled him forward. “You should come all the way into the room, my lord,” she said in a voice that sounded far steadier than she felt at the moment. Her entire insides were in a jumble. Anticipation, fear, the need to feel as if she had made the right decision, and the awareness of the very male gentleman who stood before her made for a heady mix of emotions. Reaching around him, she gave the door a gentle push and waited until the latch clicked into place before returning her attention to his face.

“Henry,” he stated suddenly. When Hannah only arched an eyebrow at the sound of his name, he added, “When we are ... alone like this, you shall call me ‘Henry’,” he explained, hoping his words didn’t sound as impatient to her ears as they did to his own. Her fingers had loosened their grip on his wrist but were still touching him lightly.

Henry glanced around the room, trying desperately to keep his nervousness from showing. Decorated in feminine peach and green, there was no doubt the room belonged to a young lady.
She is my wife
, he kept thinking, the scent of honeysuckle wafting up to fill his nostrils and make his brain even more addled, if that were even possible. “My lady, I ...” His gaze fell on her bed, the coverlet and blankets folded down to expose the wide expanse of white linens. Good grief! Her bed was larger than his own! He could take her right then and there, truly make her his wife. God knew his cock wanted to; his manhood had hardened the moment she opened the door and gave him a tentative smile. And then, when her hand touched his arm to pull him into the room, the heat he felt inflamed him even more.

“We are alone,” she said simply, wanting to assure him her lady’s maid, Lily, wasn’t still somewhere in the suite.

I could kiss her at least
, Henry thought suddenly, wondering if he would be able to leave before they made it anywhere near the bed. This was the bedchamber she’d slept in since she was in the nursery, he considered. He dared not deflower her here. He really should wait. Take her back to Oxfordshire, to Gisborn Hall and one of the bedchambers there. The one that was adjacent to his, with the connecting dressing room and a bath. Yes, that’s where he would do it.

“Henry?” Hannah whispered, her eyes round. Her body seemed to be shaking.

She’s frightened, of course
, he thought suddenly. Her mother had probably died before telling her what to expect on her wedding night. Christ, he didn’t know exactly what
he
was supposed to expect on his wedding night! It had been so long since that first time with Sarah, when he’d been too anxious and too impatient and too aroused to understand how to make love to a woman. Sarah had cried afterwards, huge tears accompanied by sobs that wracked her body. She told him to leave her alone. And he had. For two days, in fact, until she found him working in the fields near the river and slammed her fist into his face. He’d dropped like a rock, the pain under his eye so acute he thought he would be sick. But Sarah was suddenly there, begging for forgiveness and gently kissing his blackening cheek.

Had he fallen in love with her then?

He must have, for he had promised he would not pursue any of the other girls in the village (not that there were many of them). He bedded her again the next evening, and again after the village dance and ... When her condition was noticeable a few months later, his uncle boxed his ears and shipped Sarah off to his aunt’s house near Oxford. Henry visited her frequently, using each trip as another opportunity to ask for her hand in marriage.

But she was a stubborn girl, refusing him every time, even when the babe was about to be born. At that point, his aunt had even tried to convince Sarah to marry him, telling the poor girl Henry would eventually be the tenth Earl of Gisborn and Sarah, who was no better than a low-born commoner, could be his countess.

Sarah never relented.

A few weeks after his son was born, the three of them made their way back to the village nearest Gisborn Hall. Despite his uncle’s directive that he denounce the child as his own, Henry set up a household for Sarah and made sure everyone knew the babe was his son. The earl could denounce
him
, he’d decided. Used to laboring in the fields, he could make his own way in the world.

And then something amazing had happened.

When Nathan was but six weeks old, the Earl of Gisborn paid them a visit at the unfashionable hour of eight o’clock in the evening. Upon seeing his grand-nephew, Randolph Forster announced he was again making Henry his heir. His large hand had settled on Henry’s shoulder and given it a shake. “You did right by your son. Even if she,” he pointed at Sarah and lowered his voice so only Henry could hear, “Is too proud or stupid to realize it.”

Had the entire situation been a test? Henry always wondered at the earl’s pronouncement that evening. And he hadn’t counted on the earl actually bequeathing the
entire
Gisborn estate nor the earldom to him (although Henry found out later he would have been granted the earldom no matter what – he was the late earl’s closest living male relative).

So, now he stood before his very lovely, very nervous bride and allowed the smell of honeysuckle to addle his brain some more.
I should kiss her. Say a few sweet nothings. Say good night and take my leave.
Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her ever so lightly. When she raised her hands to his shoulders and then wrapped them around his neck, he deepened the kiss.

Her body was warm and soft beneath his hands, the entire front of her body pressed against his in open invitation. One of his hands drew up the side of her body, its thumb caressing the side of her breast before he gently drew it over the taut nipple, the fabric of her night rail thin enough so that he could almost believe he was touching her heated skin directly. He took satisfaction in feeling Hannah’s reaction against his mouth as her lips were force to break from his in order so she could inhale sharply.

Perhaps one more kiss and then he would leave her. The hand that caressed her nipple opened over her breast, gently lifting the mound that was, indeed, a bit larger than his hand. He captured Hannah lips to stifle her cry and then slowly slid the hand down to her hip. Gathering the fabric of her night rail beneath his palm, pulling up the gown as he did so, soon Henry had the flat of his hand smoothing over the side of her thigh, the globe of her bottom and to the front where he barely touched her belly. Hannah’s body spasmed in response, a moan rising from her throat as his kiss continued to consume her cries. When he slid his palm through the crisp curls and into the space between her thighs, he gripped her bottom with his other hand and held her hard against his body, knowing in a moment her legs would turn to gelatin and she would require his support to remain upright.

“Henry,” she managed to whisper against his lips.

Pulling his mouth away from hers, he kissed her hair and the column of her neck as his fingers searched for her womanhood. He was about to force her legs apart with a knee, but she slid one foot sideways, and suddenly, his fingers were sliding along her wet, swollen folds of flesh. The scent of feminine musk reached his nostrils as his fingers found their prey. He felt Hannah’s grip on him tighten, felt her tremulous breaths, as if she dared not breathe until whatever was about to happen ... and then she arced her body. With her hip solid against his erection and her head thrown back in ecstasy, Henry waited until he heard her quiet keening before stilling his fingers.

He was suddenly aware of his own body, of his own arousal, of her hip pressed against him. The sight of her head thrown back set off something in him he found he could not stop. His climax, so sudden and so unexpected, gripped his entire body. Pulling Hannah hard against the front of his body, he planted his mouth on her shoulder to stifle the growl, struggled hard to keep his legs beneath him, and wondered at how his body seemed to be trembling so hard. Stunned that the sight of his wife in ecstasy could have such an effect on him, Henry finally inhaled and gentled his hold on her.

Shaking like a leaf, Hannah struggled to regain her sense of self, tried to pull herself back into a single body, sure she was lost in some oblivion where her physical being didn’t exist.

Slowly, she became aware of Henry’s quiet whispers in her ear, of his hands stroking her back, stroking her shoulders, of her body being lifted and moved into a cloud of white and covered in warmth, of Henry’s lips on hers, of his lips on her neck. And then, as if it was all just a dream, she found herself dreaming.

Still breathing heavily, Henry gave Hannah one last kiss before taking his leave of her. It was a very long walk to his room at the other end of the house.